


sally sells seashells by the sea shore

by nayt0reprince



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, One Shot, guest starring popsicles and an occasional seagull, hawaii trip, minor drama, request
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-08
Updated: 2017-07-08
Packaged: 2018-11-29 06:05:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11434716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nayt0reprince/pseuds/nayt0reprince
Summary: akira indirectly almost ruins all of ryuji’s date plans with his boyfriend.





	sally sells seashells by the sea shore

**Author's Note:**

> this fic was requested by a pal! hope you enjoy it, friend!! also where the heck be the ryujishima fics there's very little and it makes me a Sad Potato. please help this writer not be sad and flood the phan-dom with cutesy nonsense of these two. or if not uh just like leave a comment or something I will lover u 5ever. anyways, enjoyyyy

Mishima’s almost _too_ chipper.

The beach itself isn’t too bad, sporting ample amounts of sand that will inevitably get stuck between Ryuji’s toes and somehow wind up in everything he owns. With the tide out, small pools hosting starfish and uppity crabs pinching at the sky make the beach’s rockier parts more appealing than usual. Mishima’s nearly slipped five times already on the seaweed, but his never-ending bouts of energy keeps him going and causes even Ryuji to feel exhausted. The sun, mixing together with Hawaii’s heat, bakes his sunscreen-slathered skin, and his feet ache. Any other instance, he would be complaining loudly around his long-gone popsicle, a splintering stick being the only thing left to chew on. 

But. But, the more they explore together, the more a gnarling feeling sinks into Ryuji’s stomach, keeping him quiet. He adjusts his two-dollar shades and plops himself on one of the rocks, gaze shifting from Mishima to the sky. Something seems wrong. Sure, it’s wrong in the first place, seeing as how Akira ditched them to spend time with his _girlfriend_ (seriously, how did Ryuji miss the memo? Of course he and Ann are a thing. It seems so obvious now, in hindsight, but that’s beside the point), leaving two out of the three “besties” to hang out together, alone.

And something is wrong. Seagulls squawk overhead, wings catching on the god-sent breeze to soar higher. This _should_ be a date. Now that they have alone time under the guise of picking up hot girls, they could be doing whatever they wanted, but instead, Mishima just wants to pick up shells. It’s not like him to pass up a good opportunity to drop their “friendship” facade for the much-preferred true nature of their relationship. Ryuji sighs. He’s never been good at this sort of thing - the thing that Akira often does with those eyes of his dancing about, analyzing everything about everyone, behind those dumb fake (and somehow cool) glasses. Instead, Ryuji kinda _wings_ it, lobbing shots in the dark and hoping he lands on answers. Right now, though, all he’s come up with are question marks and an unsettling sensation prickling in his fingertips. 

It deals with Mishima, though. He knows at least that much, even if it seems obvious. He glances at the subject in question, who places his hands on his hips while bending down, peering into a tidepool. His precarious balance frightens Ryuji a little, but Mishima’s tough enough to survive a fall. After all, he’s survived much, much worse.

Ryuji’s knee throbs. He rubs it, and distracts himself with a crab shell discarded by a bird probably. None of that really matters right now. Right now, he needs to figure _this_ out, whatever it is.

“Ryuji!” Mishima turns and waves, smile beaming, yet just slightly off-putting. Ryuji’s upper lip twitches. “Come here, I found something super cool! It’s all prickly.”

“C’mon, man, I was just gettin’ comfy.” He slides off the rock and lands onto another, flip-flops scuffing along the ground. Mishima kneels and points, points again, and points more as though it will make Ryuji move faster, _insistently,_ at the miniature pond. “Chill, dude, I’m moving as fast as I can. ‘Sides, it’s not going anywhere.”

He kneels next to Mishima, propping his sunglasses onto his forehead to see better. He squints. A small green sea urchin, with maybe millions of tiny little ouchy-needles, sits in the center on the pool. Mishima grins. 

“I’ve never seen one of these before,” he says, clenching both hands into fists from excitement. “At least, not alive. Think I can touch it?”

“Don’t even. This trip’s bad enough without a visit to the ER, and _I’d_ have to be the one to report to Ms. Kawakami why you’re dead. I ain’t wanna deal with that lady more than I gotta.”

“Dang.” Mishima wrinkles his nose, dejected, and stands up. “Okay, then. I guess I’ll have to find something I _can_ touch. Maybe there’s some pretty shells hiding around here somewhere that I can take back home to Mom. She was all, ‘Make sure to get me something expensive!’ and stuff, but then only gives me five thousand yen. Like, Mom? Seriously? I spent it on sweets instead like an impulsive idiot that I am and now I’m screwed, so. Uh.” He trails off, laughing nervously under Ryuji’s scrutinizing stare. “I thought, like, I could find something money can’t buy for her. Or something.”

“Right,” Ryuji says after a beat. Mishima rubs the back of his neck and looks away. The _wrong_ feeling is there again. Something unspoken, weighing on Mishima’s slim shoulders, sagging them down with each little forced laugh. At this point, Akira would’ve figured out the issue and fixed it by now. He scowls at himself. _Dammit, Mishima, just tell me what’s going on, I can’t freakin’ read minds._

Nothing is said. Mishima rolls up his pants to his knees and steps into the water, humming some familiar song from some anime Ryuji’s certain he’s watched but can’t quite place the name on it. He cocks his head to the side, lingering behind and spitting out tiny wood slivers that used to be a popsicle stick. He wants a new one. The cart’s too far away, though. He stuffs his hands into his pockets and realizes Mishima’s not turning over rocks or whatever anymore. He’s standing still. Eyes on the ocean, hands limp by his sides.

“Hey,” Ryuji starts, and Mishima interrupts,

“Am I that bothersome?”

Huh? “Wha?”

Mishima laughs. It’s an awful sound, reminiscent of a yellow-eyed imitator sneering in the depths of Mementos, grinning with bared teeth just a smidgen too sharp. It’s an aching sound, a little cruel and a little broken, as though someone replayed it on a cheap, shitty tape recorder. “I heard, you know.” He glances over his shoulder, and the smile is still there, but it’s all kinds of disturbing and gross. Forehead too scrunchy, grimace too evident. “Earlier, I mean. What he said.”

Say what now? Ryuji frowns, brain clunking while trying to read between the lines. He always sucked at interpreting text. (“Stop being so literal,” Kawakami’s chicken-scratch handwriting would read. “Not everything is pointed out to you. You have to work some of it out yourself.”) Mishma shakes his head, fingernails raking through his own hair.

“I just can’t help myself, I guess. My mouth keeps moving and I can’t make it stop. I didn’t know - I mean, if I knew, I’d have stopped, yeah? I’m bad at knowing what people want from me. It’s a bad habit. If he said it to my face, I would’ve shut up.”

Shut--oh. _Oh._ Right. Ryuji snaps his fingers. Right, that morning, the quick meeting at the Visitor’s Center. He asked Akira how it was like, spending the night with Mishima. (Not because he wasn’t totally jealous or anything, no. Totally not. Like. At all. Stupid Kawakami.) And Akira, with a distinct roll of his shoulder and a fiddling of glasses, replied,

_“He just won’t shut up.”_

Fuck, Mishima _heard_ that? And then proceeded to pretend everything was fine? No wonder those dumb smiles confused Ryuji so much. They were about as fake as that yakuza leader’s briefcase filled with yen. He groans and rolls his eyes. _Dammit, Akira._

“Mishima,” he says, “buddy, he didn’t mean that.”

“It’s fine. You don’t have to lie or anything. I just wish I knew sooner before spilling my heart out to him.” Mishima picks up another rock and chucks it into the ocean. “Since, well, it annoys him so much.”

“He’s not an--look, he’s just, y’know, really tired, being the leader of the Phantom Thieves and all. He didn’t mean it. You ain’t annoying at all.” He manages to grin. “You’re really cool, dude.”

“You,” Mishima replies, ears slightly pink, “are _biased,_ Sakamoto.”

“No, I mean it. Yeah, sure, I’m biased, but screw that, like.” He waves his hand dismissively. “We just kicked some bad dude’s ass, and if it weren’t for you and that site you run, nobody would really believe in us or talk much ‘bout it. He appreciates the hell outta you and everything you do. Just,” he looks to the ground and kicks some sand, “he’s just kinda been burned-out a little bit. He came here to get a vackay, not a reminder ‘bout that stuff. So maybe he don’t think you’re annoying, but more, like, too overenthusiastic for him right now?”

“Overenthusiatic.”

“Yeah. For him. He’s like a cat and gets moody and shit. Likes you one moment, lets your ass get beat by your former track teammates the next without lifting a finger to help you.” He still needs to kick Akira in the dick for that. He wasn’t _actually_ wanting to wear bruises for a couple of days. “My point being is, you gotta read the mood with Akira. Otherwise, you’re just gonna rub him the wrong way. Cats hate that. Don’t let it eat at you that he complained once. I mean, we all do that, right? He’s my best friend and everything, but even we butt heads from time to time. So like, fuck it, y’know? Who cares what he thinks? He’s not the be-all, end-all like you make him out to be. _I_ think you’re doin’ fine. Let’s just get popsicles and get shells for your greedy ass to give to your mum and forget about him. And then do some fun shit to rub it in Akira’s face. He shouldn’t be the only one smacking lips with his girlfriend.”

A beat passes. Waves rush over Mishima’s calves as he blinks, appearing dumbfounded at first, before breaking into laughter. _Genuine_ laughter, not that horse-shit from earlier. His dimples are more apparent, and his eyes crinkle around the edges while his arms clasp around his waist from doubling-over. Oh, good. Ryuji relaxes a little. Maybe he’s done something right. 

“You don’t have a girlfriend, Sakamoto,” Mishima points out and shuffles out of the water, search temporarily abandoned.

“Yeah, nah, I don’t. _But,_ ” he says, finger-gunning and winking in Mishima’s direction, “I _do_ got a cute boy-phand. Get it? Like boyfriend, but with ‘phan’ in it instead, like how y’all do with the phan-dom and all that wordplay crap? Eh? Eh?”

“Boy--did you just try to make a pun?”

“What of it? Good, am I right? Put that one on the Phan-Site. Survey question of the day: ‘Does Skull have the best boy-phand ever?’ One hundred percent yes’s, guaranteed. Landslide victory.”

Mishima starts wheezing from his giggle fits, and Ryuji starts to laugh with him, hand patting his shoulder. He keeps forgetting that Mishima’s ego is fragile like sea shells; tread too hard, and it breaks beneath your heel. Thankfully, he’s also got the recovery of a starfish, so it’s not all bad. Unlike earlier, Mishima’s entire demeanor is more relaxed. Easier to read. Ryuji likes this Mishima - an uncomplicated, passionate dweeb with his heart in all the right places.

“So, whaddaya say? Popsicles now?” He hooks his arm around Mishima’s neck, dragging him along in his escapades. “They got ten gajillion different flavors. I didn’t even know you could mix coconut with literally everything. I don’t even like coconut, and I think that’s impressive.”

“I’m not ‘smacking lips’ with you if your tongue keeps looking purple. I have a reputation to uphold, being the ever-important Admin and PR Manager.” Mishima glances up at Ryuji and gives a cheeky grin. This little shit.

“Reputation? Please. That went out the window the second you decided to date me.”

“Are you kidding? That upped my street-credibility to ‘untouchable’ in the eyes of the jerks back at school since they’re all afraid of you for some reason. They just don’t know how much of a dork you are. Dating you was the second-best decision of my life.”

“ _Second-_ best?”

Mishima winks. “The first is a secret.”

“A _secret?_ Dude, c’mon, man! I wanna know now!”

“Perhaps you can buy the truth out of me with a double-stick lime creamsicle.”

“Wh--y’can’t just blackmail your boyfriend ‘cause you’re poor from your bad spending problems!”

“Or can I? Anonymous site survey says one hundred and ten-percent ‘yes.’”

“Oh my god. Why am I dating you again?”

They nudge each other with their elbows all the way back to the little cart, where Ryuji shells out enough money to get Mishima’s lame creamsicle and his own blue raspberry iced-goodness. It tastes like chemicals. It tastes _great._ Judging by the look on Mishima’s face, he agrees. 

“So,” Ryuji says, casually lacing their fingers together despite the onlookers, “date-time now? Feeling better?”

“Yes. Yes, I’m feeling much better. Thank you for putting up with me.” Mishima nods and smiles. “Let’s go pick up some ‘hot chicks,’ as you said.”

“Heh. Lead the way, phan-boy.”

(Turns out Mishima’s first-best decision was reading the lame-ass love letter Ryuji stuck in his locker a few months back. It’s cheesy as hell, but as they look over the shells they found while leaning on one another’s shoulder while the sun sets, he finds it to be the cutest shit he’s ever heard. Especially with that adorable stumbling over words as Mishima confesses his little secret with a red face.

 _Eat your heart out, Akira. Today,_ I’m _the luckiest sonuva bitch in Hawaii._ )


End file.
